


Taste Sensation

by EntreNous



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Blood Drinking, Gen, Humor, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-27
Updated: 2004-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike feels Angel needs a little more spice in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste Sensation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request asking for Spike and Angel, Spike experimenting with seasoning blood and Angel as his guinea pig. Harmony makes a special appearance in this one.

“Burning the midnight oil, huh boss?” Harmony asked brightly.

Angel gave her a hard look. “Well. If I hadn’t been unaware of the developments in the press department earlier today, then I wouldn’t have to be here now, would I?”

Harmony frowned at him as she tried to make sense of the abundance of negatives in a question that didn’t really seem like it was looking for an answer. “Um . . .”

“Oh forget it, Harmony. Just go home.”

“Okay,” she said, her head bobbing with resolve. “Can do!”

Angel grumbled and once again looked down at the stacks of folders scattered on his desk.

“Heard Harmony forgot to give you the word on the scandal of the day.”

“Spike.” Angel meant for it to sound like a growl, he really did, but it came out as a sad little sigh. He would have been exhausted regardless with the amount of work he’d been putting in lately, and the fact that he’d gone through the entire day blithely unaware of a major public relations catastrophe growing larger by the second because he hadn’t made a statement about Wolfram & Hart’s role in various untimely deaths was not helping matters. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with whatever Spike wanted to complain about.

“Now, now; no reason to get snippy with me, especially seeing as I’ve brought you dinner.” Spike carefully set a mug of blood on Angel’s desk and walked out of the office.

“Oh.” After sniffing at the contents suspiciously, Angel shrugged and took a sip. “Aaarrgghh!” he shouted incoherently as the first of it went down his throat.

Spike’s head popped in just past the doorframe. “Not to your liking, then?”

“What the hell is this?” Angel asked as soon as he could speak.

“ ‘s blood,” Spike said slowly as though he was speaking to a child.

“I know that it’s blood; what the hell did you do to it?”

“You know how you’re always saying that I should make myself useful around here?”

“I’m always saying you should _leave_ \--”

“So I thought I could make you more useful.”

“By giving me bad blood?”

“No, you dolt; by creating a special blend of blood and flavorings that would increase well being and raise job productivity for all of our undead employees. That there’s ferret blood with chili powder,” Spike added, pointing to the mug.

Angel looked at the mug with wide eyes. “Ferrets can’t even have that much blood in them. I mean, they’re so small.”

“Small but tasty,” Spike corrected him. “And yeah, it took about five or six to fill that one. Nasty things; bit me all over the fingers.” Spike waved his already-healed hands at Angel.

“That doesn’t seem very efficient, using five or more,” Angel noted, frowning at the blood and giving it another sniff. “And the chili powder isn’t going to be good for anyone, especially if people have sensitive digestive systems; I can’t have the vampire contingent of the typing pool suddenly all out for the count, and -- Wait a second,” he interrupted himself suddenly. “Why am I talking to you about this ridiculousness? Why are you trying to make me your taste test subject for this blood seasoning nonsense?”

Spike rubbed at the back of his neck and considered. “Because you need spice in your life?”

“Get out of here, Spike.”

“Fine, I’ll go,” Spike said sullenly. “But now you see why no one can make a contribution to the team without your micromanagement. Too bloody controlling, you are.” He sashayed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Five minutes later, Angel had engrossed himself in the details of the day’s events, and didn’t look up when someone set a steaming mug in front of him. “Thanks,” he muttered, and took a healthy gulp. Then he looked up, throat choking and eyes tearing, to see Spike watching him with interest.

“Skunk,” Spike said helpfully.

“Why are you giving me skunks’ blood?” Angel gasped. He pushed the mug far away from him on the desk, and on second thought piled some of the folders on top of it to block the aroma. 

“Thought it might be nice tasting,” Spike said. “Guess the cinnamon I added didn’t do much for it then. But they smell so terrible when they’re alive that I wondered if it wasn’t like a deliberate deterrent to something good. Kind of like bees with honey. The hard-coating, creamy-center principle.”

“But it’s the honey that’s people want, not the bee _blood_ ,” Angel said, his voice rising.

Spike nodded wisely and slit his eyes in concentration. “But d’you think bee blood _would_ be good? They don’t smell bad, and they do make all the honey.”

“No, of course not, and -- yes. Yes I do,” Angel said, changing tracks to shift the advantage. “Why don’t you go get a bunch of bees, and tomorrow bring me a mug of hot steaming bee blood, and we’ll talk about this venture of yours some more?”

“There, was that so hard?” Spike asked him, moving to clap Angel on the shoulder. “Makes you feel good, doesn’t it, giving people a kind word now and again, encouraging others.”

“Makes me feel all warm inside,” Angel said with a carefully blank face.

“Good then,” Spike nodded, turning back towards the door. Then he stopped short. “Hey! Wait a minute. Wait, you want me to get stung!”

“I want you to leave me alone,” Angel said peevishly.

“Try to make improvements around here, try to improve morale -- not worth a damn helping those that don’t want help,” Spike said to himself as he exited the room once more. Angel grimaced and returned to his work.

After finally getting through all of the files, Angel made a few notes about the statement that he would make at the press conference and stacked the folders on the side of his desk. 

“Morning boss,” Harmony said cheerfully as she entered the room. Angel grunted in return. She assumed a wounded look and put his early morning mug of blood on the desk, leaving without another word. 

Angel pulled the mug over and raised it to his lips. Then suddenly, regarding the contents with some trepidation, he drew back, sloshed the fluid in the mug and snuffled the steam coming off of it. Finding no warning signs in terms of appearance or smell, he took a careful sip. “Harmony!” he yelled as soon as he had swallowed.

“Oh, did you like it?” she said enthusiastically as she came back into the room. “It’s this new thing that Spike’s working on, trying different types of animal blood and seasoning it?”

“I’m aware of Spike’s little project,” Angel said darkly.

Harmony paid him no heed and chattered on. “Anyway, that’s chinchilla blood with a drop of horseradish and a dash of soy sauce, and . . . wait . . . oh, crushed dung beetles.”

“The dung beetles are what give it texture,” Spike’s voice called out from the hallway. 

“I’ll give you texture,” Angel sputtered, getting to his feet and rushing out into the hall. Muffled sounds of scuffling and indignant cries followed.

Harmony chewed on her lip for a moment and then took a swig of the blood. “Wow, that’s bracing,” she said out loud, blinking rapidly. She moved to the glass wall and watched Angel bang Spike’s head against the floor. “I’m so glad that Spike followed my advice about this blood mixing thing. I feel more productive already.”


End file.
